"Shit." I rub my face. "I'm sorry, Daisy."

She shrugs and in a meek voice, says, "I didn't put up a fight. It was obvious there was something between them." A long exhale escapes her. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough." I glance at Hollyn to read her expression and take it upon myself to say, "Let's just write our letters and reflect like Marleen said. Daisy, we are here for you if you need to talk. Don't let this be a setback but rather motivation in the direction you've been traveling. You know how to reach me."

"Thank you, Jace." She wipes a quick tear away and takes out her stationery. She pulls her feet up close to her and starts writing her letter, tears streaming down her face. It just about kills me.

"Hollyn, could you call me?"

"Sure."

It takes no time for her to hang up the iPad and call me on her iPhone. When I answer, I say, "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Get in line."

"What the hell happened?"

"I still don't know all the details. But what I do know is Daisy stayed the night at Carter's and when she woke up, Sasha walked back in the apartment, gave Carter some money she took from him, and then told him she loved him and wanted him back."

"Oh, come on. What did Carter do?"

"When she left, he at least chased after her, but when she asked if what they had was real to him, he didn't answer."

"Yup, I'm going to fucking kill him."

"I just don't get it," Hollyn comments. "I've known Carter for some time now and whenever he's around Daisy, I see awe in his eyes. He's a different person with her next to him. Like happiness has finally found him. I don't get why he wouldn't answer her."

"Maybe he still has feelings for Sasha."

"Maybe." Hollyn sighs. "I feel so bad for her. Amanda said Daisy has been moping around the house, not even touching her craft table, an obvious cause for concern."

"She needs to get out. Do you think she would want to come to the game too? I can fly you both down. Has she ever been out of the state? Might be just what she needs."

"You would do that?"

"Of course. She's a friend, Hollyn. I take care of my people. Set up the details with her, and I'll get the tickets."

"You're amazing." She pauses. "Hey, how did your meeting with the lawyers go? You haven't mentioned it."

Does she mean the nightmare meeting? The one where my lawyers told me there is a fifty-percent chance this adoption can be reversed? The one where it felt like walls were closing in on me while I gasped for air, air I still haven't found.

"Not the best meeting. Basically, Rebecca has a good case. I'm at loss as to what to do."

"And talking to her isn't working?"

"Not so much. Even if I wanted to give it one more go, to rationalize with her, I seem to blow up every time she's around. It's impossible for me to keep my cool."

"That's understandable. I wish there was something I could do for you."

"Just be there, babe. That's all I ask."

"I can do that. Hey, Marleen is starting to collect letters, I should probably go write mine. Call me later tonight to hash out details. I'll be sure to talk to Daisy before I leave."

"Okay, sounds good."

The phone goes silent, my empty apartment feeling very lonely all of a sudden. I've traveled a bit for baseball, always being a loner when it came to my personal life. But I've craved a family, and that's part of the pain in losing Hope. I've felt relief for her to have the family she deserves, but desolated I wasn't able to keep her to fill that emptiness in my soul. Then Hollyn entered my life, and hell, everything changed. I started to see what it would be like to have someone special in my life, someone I could cherish.

Will she be the one I can finally call my own? I sure as hell hope so because I've fallen for her. I've fallen for her so damn hard.

Dear Life, I've put on a brave face, I've tried to exude positivity, but I can't help but feel sick to my stomach over the idea of going to Jace's game. I'm terrified.

So many memories and emotions; so much guilt. Can Eric see me now? What would he really think of Jace? Would he approve? Would he want me to find comfort in someone else? If roles were reversed, I don't know if I would be too keen on Eric moving on, but then again, I've always been a very jealous person.

Why can't I be one of those people who skate through life, never having to really face adversity? Or perhaps, why am I not someone who copes with adversity? You've presented me with a challenge I'm not sure I'm strong enough to overcome. Where do I find my strength?

Help me, Life. Help me find the acceptance in my loss. Please, please help me find acceptance. I just want this aching feeling to finally dissipate.

Please.

Sincerely, Hollyn Dear Life, Have you ever had a girl crush? I haven't, that was until Sasha came along. Have you ever heard that song, "Girl Crush" by Little Big Town? I'm sure you have. I heard it on the radio and haven't been able to think of anything else.

Just like the song says, I want to drown myself in her perfume. I want her long black hair. I want so desperately to know what it's like to be her, because she has everything.

She has Carter.

I know I chose to leave, it seemed like the logical decision given their history, but I wasn't expecting to feel so pathetically desperate to be someone else.

And I hate that about me. I shouldn't want to be another human being. I should want to be myself. This life I'm trying to live, trying to develop, it shouldn't be focused on one man and his heart. It should be focused on me and the beating organ in my chest.

This whole program I've spent with Carter, experiencing life through him. Well, I'm done. I want to experience life for myself. I want to know what it's like to watch a movie alone in the theater. I want to see what it's like to stand on top of a mountain, the wind being my only friend. I want to start a career. I want my own place. I want to be able to walk around naked in my apartment just because I can.

And I want to be able to revolve my life around my passion, rather than a man I'm passionate about.

That girl in the mirror, she's not fading yet. She still has a little more fight left in her.

Kind regards, Daisy Dear Life, My best friend and I aren't talking.

I'm barely hanging on to the girl I've fallen for.

My baseball career is subpar at best right now.

The ability to breathe is getting tougher and tougher with each passing day.

And I have one responsibility, to give Hope the best opportunity at having a family, and from the look of it, I'm failing miserably.

Accepting my past and accepting my future, they both read like a melting pot of human crap.

Can I get a pass, accept neither and start all over? Might be my best option right about now.

Jace Carter Crawford: Not present for the meeting. Called in sick, provided Doctor's note. Hope for a return soon. Quickly discussed the materials and offered him assistance in acceptance. He hung up before I could say goodbye. I see no change in him. Not sure if he will ever change. Marleen

Step Seven: Acceptance

CARTER.

Cool glass presses into my fingertips, the bottle I've been drinking from for the past few hours about to join its friends in a scattered collection of "fuck yous" on the floor. In the other hand, pieces of highly overrated paper with Benjamin Franklin's filthy mug on the front.

Money. That's what this world revolves around. Greedy, soiled money. Such a burnable, rip-able, steal-able object can either make or break your life.

And here I sit, twenty thousand dollars on my lap, my lucky ticket in my hand, and a pure hatred for myself. I bet it all. Every last cent Sasha gave me, I bet it all with the hopes of losing. I wanted everything to be taken away from me, because that's what has already happened, might as well tack it on with the rest of my bullshit life.

I let her walk away, without even trying to get her back. I let her listen to Sasha claim her love for me and not dismiss it. I let her watch Sasha touch me, invade my space, the space she was just snuggling up to. And then I just let her walk out of my life because I'm a fucking coward.

Kicking Sasha out of my apartment was pretty simple after that. Despite how I felt about her in the past, that's exactly where those feelings stayed: in the past. Nothing compares to the way I feel when I'm with Daisy. She's changed me, morphed me into a different man who actually cares about something other than my pursuit to be free of my uncle.

With Daisy, it was like my life was playing out in front of me in a Technicolor musical dream, with fucking dancing quilted vests and hideous turtlenecks as the chorus line.

Now, the world is dull and dreary, a plethora of greys barely distinct from one shade to the next. And there is an ache, deep in my chest, an ache so debilitating that I've surrendered all attempts at moving forward with my goals.

And Dear Life? Yeah, fuck that program. Getting Fitzy's friend to write me a doctor's note was easy, listening to Marleen trying to coach me over the phone, pure torture. That bitch has some tits to think she can save everyone. Newsflash, Marleen: some people aren't worth saving.

And you know what, some people don't want to be saved. Can't. Be.

What I can't seem to get over is that I sit here, bottle of whiskey in hand, the key to my freedom in the other and yet, I haven't broken through the glass ceiling of my proverbial imprisonment.

I haven't been to work in a few days, blowing my uncle off every time he calls to find out why I'm not slaving away behind the grill. His voice messages are full of threats that hold no weight to me now, because I hold the key to my freedom. Money.

Amber liquid drips down my throat, my body feeling numb with each swallow. I welcome the burn, loving the way it briefly dilutes the constant ache ricocheting through my body.

What a dump. This apartment, such a shithole. But there was one person who actually liked it, because she could see the good in everything. She saw it as a place of freedom. I see it as a prison of solitude, a place I'm trapped with my demons. She saw my bed as one of the most comfortable sleeps she's ever had. I see it as a rectangle of regret. My kitchen, she saw as a showcase to watch me in my element. To me, it's an embarrassing temple where I shattered the heart of the only person I've ever cared for.

The glass bottle touches my lips again and I tilt back just as a battle of fists rams against my front door, startling the hell out of me so whiskey gets all over my shirt.

"Fuck," I mutter, setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of me and looking toward the front door. Someone is about to regret disturbing me.

On wobbly legs, I make my way to the door and when I open it, I'm greeted with a meaty fist to my face which sends me stumbling backward until I fall flat on my ass. Disoriented, I try to make sense of what just happened and that's when I see my uncle, hovering above me, shaking his fist out.

"Get up."

"Fuck you," I spit out, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

Shaking his head, he shuts the door behind him and stares down at me. "It's funny how sometimes I can be so wrong about people."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I move my jaw around with the assistance of my hand. Nope, not broken, just sore as hell. If I wasn't so shaky on my own legs, I would fight back, show my uncle he can't rule me anymore.

"When you came to my house with one pathetic suitcase in hand, but hope for a change in your eyes, I thought you would actually make something of yourself." Motioning around with his hand, he continues, "I guess I was wrong. You're just ending up like your sorry excuse of a father, no future, no aspirations."

"Fuck you. I have aspirations." I stand up, stumbling into the wall as I catch my footing. I take a moment to right myself before continuing. "I want so much more than this dump of a life but you've been holding me back, making me pay off my servitude."

"No, son, you've been holding yourself back."

"Don't call me, son. You haven't earned that right."

"Like hell I haven't. I fed you, gave you somewhere to sleep, gave you opportunities to pursue your interests. I gave you a hell of a lot more than your father ever did."

"Yeah, with a side of fucking guilt and a handful of IOUs."

"Nothing is ever free in life, Carter. You have to work for it. I may not have known what I was doing, raising a kid that wasn't mine, but I did my damnedest to instill the value of a strong work ethic. And do you know why? Because I didn't want you to end up like my brother; a loser druggie with nothing but a needle in his hand and a bounty over his head. Did I mess up along the way? Of course. Did I blame you for the lack of freedom I had? Often. But I won't apologize for making you work hard, for never giving you anything for free, because you now know the value of your efforts. You know what it takes to keep your head above water." Looking around again, he says, "At least I thought you did."

Mentally knocked over, I find my way to the couch and try to gather my thoughts. My entire life I've thought of this man as a retched human being, out to make my life miserable in return for ruining his. And yes, there may have been some subconscious payback on his part, but from what he's saying, his intent was to make something of me, and fuck if that doesn't mess with my liquor-soaked brain.

"You couldn't have shown a little compassion? A little understanding for a little boy who lost his parents?" I ask.

"I don't know compassion, Carter. My father was an abusive alcoholic and my mother was nowhere to be found. Compassion doesn't hold a bone in my body."

"I was scared," I say meekly. "I lost everything I knew and had to live with a terrifying man who wanted nothing to do with me. I went to bed every night, hiding in my closet, afraid you were going to do something to me with your volatile temper. And when I was old enough, tall enough to hold my own, you turned me into a bitter man. You speak of value and ethics but where's the value in showing humanity?" I point at him, throwing emphasis behind my words. "You could have stepped up, and not just by taking me in, but by showing an ounce of kindness, interest, love."

His hand propped on the counter, he nods his head, his eyes cast down. "I could have," he says softly. "But I'm not that big of a man, and I'm not afraid to admit it." He meets my gaze. "But you are. That girl you were with, she means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"She did," I admit, a bitterness left on my tongue.

"Did." His lips press tightly together. "Because of me? Because of what I said?"

I want to say yes, but I know it's not the truth. "No, it's because of me." Then I pause. "And maybe a little of you. I crushed her. I'm incapable of letting anyone in because I'm too bitter." I'm the bitter man you created. "Like you."

"You are who you want to be, Carter. I choose to be bitter, to live my life in solitude, running my restaurant, and never stepping outside of my element. But you shouldn't. You have potential. Why do you think I pushed the Dear Life program?"

"Because you wanted me to be a fucking line cook for the rest of my life. Wanted the money you'd spent on me back."

"No." He shakes his head. "I don't care about the money. I was never going to take it from you, but I wanted you to work for it, to learn how to save. As for the job, you needed to know what it was like to work for someone else, to know that you're not a know-it-all punk who is God's gift to the whisk. A little humility goes a long way, Carter." Mind-fucking-blown, life around me crumbling into a million pieces of the unknown. "I enrolled you into the program because I saw a darkness in your eyes, the kind of darkness I saw in your father's. It scared me. You were teetering on the edge of giving in to that darkness and throwing away the potential I see in you. I couldn't bear to witness that, so I took action."

"I can't . . ." My fingers sift through my unkempt hair. "Why the fuck didn't you just say something?"

"Because, you're a know-it-all punk who wouldn't take a word I say to heart. Like I said, I've never parented before, and I sure as shit didn't have a good example. I didn't know what I was doing. You're lucky you were fed and clothed growing up. But I cared, Carter, I still do."

"That's why you came to my apartment and knocked the fuck out of my jaw?"

"It's called knocking some sense into you. I take that term literally." There is a small smirk on his face, and it's the first time I can remember my uncle ever joking with me.